


Life During Wartime

by lamardeuse



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James falls apart, Lewis is there to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life During Wartime

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lewis Week of Love on the lewis_challenge LJ community.
> 
> See endnote for an additional warning.

James leaned his forehead against the door to Lewis' flat, willing the man to be there. _Christ, please be there._  
  
Just as he was about to give up, James heard a tired shuffle through the door as Lewis came down the narrow hallway. He stepped back, straightening as best he could.  
  
Lewis blinked even in the dim light of the corridor, bleary-eyed, and James cursed himself for a fool; of course Lewis had been up all night too, was probably only now getting some rest. “I'm sorry,” James said, voice rusty to his own ears – not surprising considering his lungs felt clogged with soot. “I didn't mean –” He hooked a thumb back over his shoulder, in the direction of his own flat. “I should –”  
  
Lewis' blue eyes finally focused, and his expression immediately softened at whatever he saw on James' face, whatever his copper's gaze read in the fact that James hadn't bothered to change out of his firefighter's uniform. James knew he must reek of ash and fire and death – it was becoming nearly impossible to get the stench out of his skin, no matter how hard he scrubbed – but Lewis didn't seem to care. Instead, he stepped aside to allow James entry.  
  
James walked past the hall table where Lewis' white A.R.P. helmet was placed neatly, the large ‘W' stencilled across the front. His bluette overalls were tossed more haphazardly over the back of the sofa, and Lewis moved to snatch them away and put them in the cupboard. When he returned, James was standing in the middle of the living room, trying to remember how to breathe.  
  
“Give us the key to your flat, lad,” Lewis said, coming to stand in front of him. Mechanically, James obeyed, and when Lewis had pocketed the key, he nodded at James' coat. “I'll take those with me. Hop to it.”  
  
In the privacy of his own thoughts, James could admit he'd imagined this moment, standing in front of Robert Lewis as he stripped away every last defence against him, against his understanding eyes and his tea and biscuits at odd hours when they were both too wound up to sleep and the way he had of making James feel as though he knew all the secrets inside him and didn’t give a damn.  
  
He took off his coat, then his trousers, then his boots, and when the weight was off him he discovered he was shivering, even though it wasn’t cold in Lewis’ flat. He felt Lewis’ palms settle on his shoulders and raised his head.  
  
“Will you be all right here?” _Alone_ was the unspoken ending to that question.  
  
James nodded. “Yes.”  
  
“Be back in a tick. Why don’t you get washed up? I’ll bring you some fresh clothes.” James nodded again, and Lewis let go of him and picked up James’ coat.  
  
“I couldn't –” He sucked in a breath, started again. “There was a woman inside – her family had thought she’d gotten out, but then they realised she was still inside and –”  
  
“James, James –”  
  
“I wanted to go in but I couldn’t, the flames were too, it was too late, but I wanted to, I wanted –”  
  
“Shhhhh, I know, I know,” Lewis murmured, and his hands were on James’ face now. James squeezed his eyes shut and let himself lean, allowed their foreheads to touch, and God, Lewis didn’t pull away, Lewis just kept holding him while James’ tears slid over his fingers.  
  
The reality of what he’d revealed caught him full on after a few moments, and he straightened, flushing with embarrassment. Lewis didn’t immediately take his hands away, his thumbs brushing moisture from James’ cheeks.  
  
“I’ll be back,” Lewis said gruffly, finally releasing him and gathering up James’ uniform again. “You go wash up now, lad.”  
  
James did as he was told, stripping down and filling Lewis’ tub to the three-inch mark, folding in on himself as the steam rose around him. He cleaned himself as best he could with Lewis’ Lever soap, letting the obvious evidence of the night vanish down the drain. When he emerged, there was a change of clothes laid out for him, and Lewis was snoring softly in the armchair, his head thrown back. James watched him for a moment, his mouth remembering the vague shape of a smile, then donned the pants and undershirt and socks.  
  
Lewis snorted awake, then groaned. “Sorry,” he said, sitting up, “I’m all in.” His gaze roamed over James’ body for a moment, and James felt his skin prickle in a not unpleasant way. “Come on, then,” he said, rising to his feet and trudging off toward the bedroom. After standing there stunned for a moment, James followed him.  
  
The room was dark, the blackout curtains keeping out the daylight. Lewis climbed into the bed and rolled to the far edge, while James stood paralysed in the doorway. He couldn’t mean –  
  
Lewis rolled to face him. “Well?”  
  
He did. God, he did. “I should –”  
  
Lewis shook his head. “There’s no more time for ‘should,’ lad. Not in this world we’re living in.”  
  
James sucked in a breath and forced his feet to move forward. The bed was cold, but it warmed soon enough when Lewis’ arm slipped around him. And when he awoke hours later after the first good sleep he’d had in weeks, he was the one who placed his hands on Lewis’ face and kissed him, because Lewis was right.  
  
The bombs fell again that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. And every day, they returned to Lewis’ flat to sleep, wrapped up in one another, gathering strength to face the coming darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical footnote: Lewis’ white helmet marks him as a Chief Warden, because he would be. :)
> 
> And for a heartbreaking bit of statistical history, see [this article](http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/datablog/2010/sep/06/london-blitz-bomb-map-september-7-1940) for the London Fire Brigade's report of the first night of the Blitz, September 7, 1940.
> 
> Warning: Minor character death.


End file.
